What scares me is the bane of old age;
that I can’t grow old gracefully.
I cannot bear to be like garbage
discarded in a dark back alley.
Grey hairs and wrinkles plus weak eyesight;
I sure do not seem like a winner.
Snores that keep you awake all night
can make the nicest person bitter.
I’m scared that I may lose my charm;
that sweet young things may call me uncle.
I would prefer to buy the farm
than having to face this debacle.
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